July 31

I struggled with the image I'd use for today long before today actually arrived. There was, after all, absolutely no chance that I'd ever come up with anything impressive or meaningful enough to represent what Logan's birthday means to us. So instead of going for greatness, I went with what I know. With what it's all about, in the simplest terms possible.

This is a picture of Logan that hangs in our dining room. It's probably one of my favorite shots of any of my kids. Had I had my wits about me earlier, I would've taken this picture before we'd sliced into the cake and removed the big number 7, but it's okay. It's more than okay, I think, because it shows that life continues on for us. That we still live and eat cake and celebrate his life.

So yeah. Today. The big number seven. The lunch at Red Tractor, the balloon release at the cemetery, the old home videos from happier times, the dinner at Outback just so we could have that special brown bread that Logan talked about so much.

Mmm, they have that brown bread, right? Can I get some of that brown bread? It's pretty good. Yeah, it's pretty good.

Then candles on the cake blown out not by the birthday boy, but by the three other kids who share so many of his traits and qualities. And by Lambie, of course. Lambie, too.

There's really nothing I can say to encapsulate what it's like to celebrate your son's birthday in this kind of fashion.

But I know, in one way or another, that he's been around today. There were Corvettes and songs on the radio and feelings and thoughts that said so.

And then there's this picture that's on the wall that I see every single day and talk to some of those days. There's that too. It's not the same. It'll never ever ever be the same. But we can choose to make it good, even when it the ache is there and the pain still feels fresh. We can choose to have cake and sing happy birthday and remember.

Happy birthday, Logan. We are so thankful for you. And I'm thankful that you make me think so often of God and of Someday when my life will finally feel whole again.

July 30

Tomorrow is Logan's birthday. He should be here with us, making enthusiastic plans for celebrating the big number seven. But he's not. At least, not in a way that we can feel and see and touch and hear him.

But that doesn't mean we won't celebrate his day anyway, because we will. There will be mixed emotions and probably a lot of tears, some hidden and some freely displayed. And I'm hoping that we'll manage to laugh together, too. If only for a little while.

I got a little pre-birthday laugh/cry when I got this in the mail from Kelly, the preschool director.

I don't know if she felt any misgivings about sending a tangible card. But I can tell you something: I'm so grateful that she did. It's an enormous blessing to me that someone remembered and sent a physical card, even though he's not here to see it or to fill the poster inside with beautiful swirls of color.

It's still so painful to celebrate without him. But gestures like this ease the ache, if only just a little bit.

July 29

This morning, the Little Boys and I met a woman from our church for coffee at Starbucks, and when the munchkins got antsy, we all headed off to a local playground.

She may not realize it, but Barbara was a key support person for me when Logan was sick and after he passed on. It wasn't that she made any spectacular gestures; she sent cards and messages, and she was just there when so many people I thought I could count on weren't. And I'm so grateful for how she showed me God's love in such simple ways.

I realized recently that I didn't know her well at all, so I asked her to have coffee with us. And I'm so glad that I did. We had a lovely chat, and I hope we'll have more of them in the future.

July 28

While Adam finished making dinner this evening, I headed upstairs to awaken Brady from his nap. Usually, when the door to his room creaks open, he bolts upright, but not today. Today, when I poked my head inside, I saw this:

(Well, an upright version of this. I can't figure out why my computer refuses to flip certain images right-side up. But I digress.)

He looked so peaceful, so purely restful, that I stood and watched him for a few minutes as he breathed in and out.

Good rest is a blessing. And so is the ability to observe it in action. There's just something intangibly soothing about watching a little one in low-power mode.

July 27

Brady lined up three of his pitties this morning and asked me to take their picture. (He also told them to say cheese and chastised one for blinking after the fact, but that's neither here nor there.) Here they are:

It's a whimsical image, and I didn't think much about it until this evening when I sat down to pick today's wink moment. And then suddenly, there was a whole lot more to the little trio than I'd originally assumed.

Brady and I have a little schtick about pitties that we've been reciting for quite a while now. I say 'hey Brady, what do pitties do?' and Brady replies 'pitties change tires' and then he gets to work having one of his many pitties 'change a tire.'

In the world of Cars, pitties are the racers' support staff. Of course they change tires, but they also have their buddies' backs no matter what. They're loyal friends.

So looking at this image made me grateful for the special people who've stuck with me through it all. I'm grateful for you. (And don't worry, I don't really think of you as pitties! It's just an analogy. :) )

July 26

As I was leaving dinner tonight, the Brad Paisley song Letter to Me started playing in the restaurant. And it got me thinking... a lot.

For the country music deprived among you, the song features Paisley sharing all of the life lessons he'd like to tell his 17-year old self.

I've always liked the tune quite a lot, but tonight, it struck me in a completely different way. It made me realize how incredibly grateful I am that my 17-year old self didn't know how her life would pan out.

Even though we're sort of wired to want to know what will happen months and years down the line, it's an amazing blessing that we don't. Not knowing can be frustrating, but at the same time, it gives us an unmatched opportunity to develop faith.

And faith, hope and love are more important than anything else.

July 25

My kiddos spend a lot of time bickering. A lot. As a result, I spend a lot of time feeling utterly incompetent as a parent. So it means a great deal to me when someone takes the time to tell me something positive about one of said munchkins.

I was really gratified when that happened just a little while ago. The mom of Isaac's VBS youth leader PM'd me to say that her son enjoyed working with him. It did my heart good to hear that bit of good news. Aside from the obivious ego boost, it also gave me a little faith that despite my failings, my kids are --and will continue to be-- good people who are pleasant to be around.

And when I'm feeling down like I have been, that kind of news is music to my soul.

July 24

Back in February, I devoted a post to my lovely little niece on her birthday. So today, in honor of his big day, I'm casting a spotlight on my one and only (to date!) nephew, Brendan.

Brendan is 3 1/2 months older than Abby, and lives back in Maryland, so we don't see him often, though I did get to see him try out for a traveling soccer team when Brady and I visited in early June. (He made it!)

He's the kid who officially made me an Aunt and Adam an Uncle, so he'll always have a unique and special place in my heart. And to me, he'll always be a reminder that family is a blessing.

Happy 9th birthday!

July 23

After Brady and I dropped Abby and Isaac off at VBS this morning, we headed to Target. (Yes, I go there a lot. Don't judge me.) We did as we always do and cruised down the toy car aisle. While Brady pushed every button he could find, creating a lovely cacophony of sirens, whistles and squealing tires, my gaze drifted to the pegs of Hot Wheels. One in particular caught my eye, so I leaned in for a closer look.

The Corvette body style is pretty distinctive --at least to me-- so I realized it was one right away. But I was confused, because I'd looked up the Hot Wheels wikipedia (yes, I'm totally serious) and it wasn't anything like the ones that were to be released this year.

Only then did I notice that the packaging differed from every other car displayed. I realized it looked different and unfamiliar because it's not a 2013 Hot Wheels Corvette. Nope. It's a 2008.

Five years old, surrounded by a bunch of 2013 models.

A striking blue racing Corvette that was made during the year that Logan really fell in love with cars.

I've been looking at Hot Wheels displays for a long while now, and I've never seen such an old car up for sale at retail. I grabbed it, feeling a strange sense of glee, and then tried to figure out how I'd get them to sell it to me, because surely a five year old toy wouldn't still be in the bar code system... but it was. I scanned it, and poof, 97 cents. The same price as all of its buddies.

I just know this car was put there for me to find. I know it was. I'm sure you're all getting tired of me and my Vettes, but they mean so much to us. And this one --a really old blue one with racing stickers, sitting right there on the front of the peg, right in my line of sight-- it meant so much.

I remember sighing in frustration this morning and telling God that I needed something BIG. And though it's literally a very small thing, it was definitely just the kind of big thing I needed.

July 22

I went for a drive by myself this evening. I'm in a funk. I needed to get out and just fly solo for a little while.

At each red light, I looked up at the sky. The clouds were lovely tonight; not a lot of spectacular color, but lots of pretty filtered light.

It's not a great picture, I admit, so you'll have to take my word for it, but this particular sight almost made me cry. There's just something about the way the sun's rays stretched toward the earth... it hit me. Again, I can't explain it. But it was as close to God as I felt today. And that has to be good enough.

July 21

It would be easy for me to just continue on posting these entries every day without addressing an important truth, but I feel like I need to be straightforward. Some days, it's incredibly hard for me to feel, hear, see or even experience God in even the most rudimentary fashion. Lately, I've felt very spiritually dry; more emotional than usual and honestly, more combative against God Himself. I guess I could boil it down by saying that I'm angry. Over what? A lot of things. But I've come to a place where I know it doesn't help me to be silent and mad, and if me admitting that I feel this way now and then can be helpful to someone else going through a bad spell, then I'm glad to do it.

With that said, even when my reserves feel like they're gone and I'm taxed beyond what I feel like I can take, I know I still have to keep looking. And today, this is what I saw:

It is at face value, of course, the Little Boys. But it's more complicated than that. It's a snapshot of them, yes. But they're also sitting on a ginormous pool floatie that Adam's sister gave Isaac at today's family birthday gathering. And the floatie is plunked down on the (granted, kind of disgusting) carpet that I own inside the family room of the house that I own. And Isaac is holding a jug of chocolate milk. So it's not just a picture of two of my kids or a snapshot of my reality, but also a reminder that I have the basics --more than the basics, in fact-- that help me function in this life: family, a home, food and some extras.

Even when I'm angry or frustrated or feeling disconnected, my needs are still being met. It's hard to remember and be truly, sincerely thankful for those things when my heart wishes for so much more --like my Sunshine-- but I'm working on it.

July 20

I kicked off my weekend by rolling out of bed, driving to the local Red Cross and donating blood. If you can donate, please do! Blood bank supplies are low, and I can tell you from very personal experience that your donation actually can help save a life.

With my little Saturday PSA out of the way :) I'll move on to today's wink.

I picked this up at Target this morning after I left the Red Cross. The thought of making ice pops with a reusable container took me right back to my summers as a kid in Maryland, and I thought it would be equally fun to make them with my kids now.

Just another nostalgia moment for me as I watched them munch on their Very Cherry ice pops during our walk this evening (and cautioned them to please not chew on the 'sticks'!), but like I've said before, I really cherish those good memories.

July 19

I went for a walk by myself this evening. After a hectic, stressful, mentally tiring week, it was nice to have a few minutes to just regroup. And breathe.

As I passed through the local park, I glanced up at a light pole. And today's wink was born. Er, revealed.

It was just a momentary glance, but what I saw surprised me: the light bulb that illuminates the path was super tiny. It amazed me to realize that something so small could provide enough light to break through the darkness.

And of course, as a good former Sunday School student, the old kids' tune came to mind: This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine....

No matter how small we are --or how small we feel, because believe me, I spend plenty of time feeling utterly insignificant-- we can still be bright lights in this dark world.

July 18

A Smurf blew up in my bathroom today.

Just kidding. But this is what I found when I got dressed this morning. Apparently, at some point, Adam's can of shaving gel exploded. There's billowy blue foam all over the shower floor, down the wall and (clearly) stuck to the can. I could be upset about it, but I'm not. Nope. In fact, I'm gleefully amused, because the second I laid eyes on the carnage, a song that my kids sing in preschool came to mind... Jesus' love is bubblin' over..... And it kept repeating itself.

No one likes cleaning up messes, but what a darling reminder of a very simple truth. And I desperately needed to hear it amid the trials of a mentally tiring week.

And the foam being blue, which just happens to be Logan's favorite color ever? Just a bonus.

July 17

I think I've mentioned it before, but this has not been my favorite week of the year. Not by a long shot. But this evening was nice.

That's because I got to go out to dinner with my girls Jamie and Corie. We sat outside at a barbecue joint in downtown Livermore. The evening was gorgeous and the conversation was awesome.

I may not have a blood sister, but I'm very blessed to have these gals --and others-- in my life, because those shared moments laughing about pet drama (ahem!) and kid craziness are absolutely priceless.

July 16

Nothing really stood out to me in an exceptional way today. The day was, in its most basic form, rather ho-hum, marked by swimming lessons and a trip to Target and video game play and rounds of Go Fish and Memory.

So it seemed logical to use a ho-hum kind of photo. This is a sight that I have at least once a week: Abby and the Little Boys sitting around a table in the Target Starbucks, eating something or other.

It's an everyday sight, yes, but I'm using it because it's important to remember that every single day --even the most boring days of all that consist of nothing but one executed routine after another-- is a gift.

July 15

In hindsight, I realize this picture of my dinner looks kind of gross. Sorry about that. But it has a point, so here is my funky-looking slice of pizza:

I'll start by saying that I had something of a tough day. I woke up in a negative frame of mind, and lots of frustrating things sprinkled themselves through the hours and minutes that followed.

Fast-forward to dinner time. As we sat at a table with slices of it'll-burn-ya-if-you-touch-it hot pizza, Abby posed a question: Would I rather have really, really, really hot pizza, or really, really, really cold pizza. After mulling her query for a moment --and honestly, being annoyed that she'd asked such a silly, pointless question-- I muttered hot, I guess. She smiled and looked pleased with herself. And then she said something that changed the entire tenor of my day: Well then, you can be grateful that you have hot pizza and not cold!.

From the mind of God to my daughter's lips to my ears.

It's not an easy message to hear, but it's an essential one. And I'm trying to be mindful of the importance of maintaining an attitude of gratefulness no matter what.

July 14

I found out today that my dance class had been canceled. I try hard to be genuine, even when it means I may embarrass the heck out of myself, so I'll admit that I spent most of the evening in tears. So many tears, in fact, that my head is absolutely aching right now, and I've literally run out of them.

I went back to tap dancing last Fall because I needed something to make me feel alive again after Logan died. I danced for 14 years as a child and teen, and it was something that always brought me a hearty measure of enjoyment and, well, plain old joy. And the fact that I could take lessons in the very same place where Logan took his lone year of dance meant so much to me. And I did have fun. It gave me an escape. And it made me feel like Logan wasn't so far away after all.

So I was --and I don't use the word lightly-- devastated to find out today that it was over. Gone. Poof.

The kids knew something was wrong as we took our evening walk. I wore a hat and sunglasses to hide my eyes, and both Abby and Isaac asked Adam what was going on. So he told them. And they made me these:

I can't say that the pictures magically made it all better, because they didn't. I don't get over disappointment that easily, especially when it's so completely unexpected and painful. But it reminded me that even though they're young and they do things to make me feel like a failure just about every day, they try hard to be good and compassionate when it really matters. And for that realization and that sweet truth, I'm thankful.

And I'm hoping that I'll find somewhere else to dance, and that in time I'll believe the words I've heard whispered into my ear multiple times today: I'll be wherever you are, mommy.

July 13

About two years ago, we took Logan, Abby and Isaac to see Cars 2 in a theater. Today we went back, this time with Brady in tow, to see Monsters University. It was the littlest man's first time seeing a film on the big screen.

It was amusing to watch him sitting there in his too-big-for-him seat, completely mesmerized by the previews and then the beginning of the film.

I can't say that I have a whole lot of down-time with the kids in my daily life --it's mostly go-go-go time with them-- so it was a blessing to be able to just sit in the darkness with my sweethearts and be entertained for a little while.

July 12

I guess I've been big on the concept of freedom lately.

Abby and Isaac played with some bubble wands in the back yard this evening and I felt compelled to use an image from that escapade as today's entry:

There's just something so magical about the way bubbles bob and float through the air. And have you ever watched a kid watching bubbles? They're like happy pills for children, I swear. The smiles and gleeful shrieks are hard to reproduce.

I've been trying to string together a cogent commentary here, but it's just not happening. So just look at the bubbles and remember when you viewed them with childlike wonder. And then turn around and look at other simple, little things in your world with the same sense of awe.

July 11

I blinked and bam, I'm halfway to my next birthday. It's insanity, I tell ya.

Anyway, this is how Isaac dressed himself today:

He's the only kid of my four who primps and preens in the mirror. And he's always had a fascinating fashion sense, often pairing button-down collared shirts with plaid shorts and sandals. Today, he went with Spiderman sandals, tan corduroys, a Captain America t-shirt and a burgundy velveteen button-down vest.

Now for the tie-in. The sight of him in his outfit reminded me that he's growing up. He's old enough to pick his own clothes and to dress himself. Though some days I feel like time is passing too quickly, I'm keenly aware that it's a huge blessing to be able to see my children grow up into responsible adults. And it also reminded me that God views ALL of us with the same bemused wonder that I feel when I look at Isaac in his funky fashion picks.

July 10

I found this in our front yard while I was on my way out this afternoon.

It's a spent dandelion, but my kiddos call them wishers.

There's something so delicate about wishers. Just one good puff of air --or one good puff from a two year-old's lungs-- and the lighter-than-air seeds scatter and disappear. Just like that.

There's something so romantic about that kind of freedom. And the wisher's freedom reminded me of my own, which is very real, even though I often feel choked by my circumstances.

July 9

Abby spent the night at Adam's parents' house. When she came home this afternoon, this lovely, colorful mishmash of flowers she plucked from their yard came along for the ride.

I'm used to seeing flowers, but not quite so many different kinds in the same bouquet. They're beautiful. And they remind me that beauty can come in many, many, many different colors and sizes and forms. And that is a picture-perfect kind of blessing, especially given how many aspects of this world are just plain ugly.

July 8

I love having my kids around during the summer. (Really, I do. I'm not joking.) But I really, really miss having daily adult interaction. Girl-time.

That's why instant messenger (and yes, Facebook chat) are blessings to me. They give me a means of keeping in touch --and interacting-- with friends in a casual manner each day, throughout the day.

They're just a few more of those little things I don't spend much time mulling over that make my life more fun.

July 7

We went for a walk this evening, as we often do on warm, weekend nights. We followed one of our usual paths and saw the usual sights and heard the usual sounds. It was mundane. But also familiar. And there's a degree of comfort in that which is familiar.

Like this tree. I've passed it probably hundreds of times over the past several years, but I've never really stopped to look at it. And why would I? It's just a plain old tree, after all, and it looks nearly identical to every other tree of its ilk. But it's part of the background scene of my life, and chances are good that I'd notice if it disappeared. It reminded me that the tiny details of our existence --even the ones that seem completely inconsequential-- matter. And it reminded me of exactly how good God is at planning every bitty bit of human life.

July 6

I grew up a Fair kid. My grandpa was a founder of our county fair --which is no small event-- and my mom and grandma both worked in one of the exhibitor buildings. I accrued enough volunteer hours that I'm a lifetime member of the agricultural association, in fact (and if you know me personally, I betcha wouldn't have guessed that!). I always looked forward to our week there every August and relished seeing the familiar faces. It's an interesting experience, seeing the same people just once a year. But anyway.

Today, we went to our local county fair.

It's not the same, of course, because we're in CA and I grew up in MD. But it's the same idea, so it's a wonderful little shot of nostalgia for me. And those nostalgic moments are a blessing to me. And it's also a blessing to see the kiddos having fun, whether it be by watching the pig races or taking part in the kids' tractor pull (which I also did as a kid; surprise number two!) or taking our annual silly photo booth pictures.

It was, all in all, a good day.

July 5

My focus here, from the first of the year onward, has been almost exclusively on positive, happy winks. But I do think it's possible to get quieter, softer, more subtle ones, too. The kind that make you... think. And here's today's:

This afternoon, we went to the park. The temperature dropped 30 degrees today and it was beautiful outside. At one point, the kiddos decided they wanted to swing. And I watched as one by one, they chose their seats. Abby, an empty swing, Isaac, Brady. In that order.

The empty swing.

As soon as I took the picture, the deep significance of the scene hit me like a freight train. I don't know if they did it with conscious intent, but it was so poignant that they sat in their birth order. And that they left a spot for Logan. And not just a spot, but the correct spot.

He's here, in whatever way he can be. And I'm so grateful for that truth. And I'm grateful that he's still so very alive in the other kids' hearts that they continue to include him in their daily routine.

July 4

After spending a very chill day at home, we made a last-minute decision to drive to Livermore to watch some fireworks from the side of a local road. We arrived around dusk, found a nice viewing spot, and parked. Adam took the Little Boys outside in their pjs to watch, while Abby and I stayed inside with our respective door and window open. Despite the high temperature earlier in the day, the evening was perfectly temperate and lovely.

Once the sun had set sufficiently, the show began, and the display was really nice. Since I'm incredibly set in my ways with this blog, I had to use my phone to take a picture of a picture I took during the show with my DSLR (I know, I know, silly). The quality isn't as good as the original of course, but it still encapsulates the pure beauty of the celebration:

There are plenty of ways that this experience reminds me of God. For one, it afforded us an unusual sort of family time as we sat outside watching the evening sky light up over and over again. For another, the white lights themselves are just so stunning as they reach up to the heavens and arch and bend into impressive formations that I know He had to have something to do with their creation.

The outing may or may not (ahem) have been marred slightly when a certain young girl threw up violently toward the end of the display, but eh, that too is a reminder that we can still enjoy special occasions even when they don't go quite as we'd imagined they would.

Because enjoy we did.

July 3

I won't lie: every time I get within a mile of CHO, I feel like I'm going to have a panic attack. But life is, in many ways, at least partly about facing your own demons, so I go when I need to go. And today was one of those days. Isaac's been having issues with hearing for the past month, so he was referred to an ENT at... CHO.

I felt a sense of anxiety as I drove into that old, too-familiar parking garage. Said anxiety increased as Isaac, Brady and I rode in the elevator. While we waited to be called back to see the doctor, I thought I might throw up.

But I didn't. And Isaac had a productive visit (ear tubes and adenoid removal in his future, for anyone interested). And we got to see Molly again.

I've posted about Molly before, but just so you don't have to scroll back, I'll remind you that she's the hem/onc NP at CHO. And that Logan absolutely adored her. And so did we. Still do, really. She has a huge heart for the kids she takes care of. And I believe 100% that she loved Logan, too. And that will endear her to my heart forever.

It was good to stand there and catch up for a few minutes. She brought a sense of peace to my otherwise stressful visit. And she told me that she still thinks of Logan, which to a mom like me, means SO much more than I can say with mere words. And for all of that, I'm thankful.

July 2

I'm a broken record, but dude, it's hot out.

This is the control pad to my house's air conditioner:

After going to the store earlier today to get some Gatorade and diaper cream, it was nice to come home to a nice, cool house. A little but often gravely underappreciated convenience of the current era.

July 1

We went to Bed, Bath and Beyond today to buy some spoons. (Yes, just spoons. Don't ask.) As we milled around the flatware area, Abby suddenly exclaimed hey, look! And when I did, I saw this:

It's one of those kids' water bottles. And the name on it... Logan.

The truly strange thing? It was completely out of place. There wasn't another bottle like it in sight. Someone just... put it there. And we found it.

Kind of perfect.

And because I wasn't riding high enough on that, when we got to the checkout counter, the disposable bags next to the register featured none other than Lightning McQueen. I looked around, sure that there were others counters with the same bags, but no: the other registers featured bags picturing the likes of Tinker Bell, Disney Princesses and Spiderman. But not Cars.

A double-whammy of feel-good winkage to kick off Logan's birthday month.